HP: Arcturus Malfoy

The puddle of blood glistened in the light of the magical lamps. I approached the fireplace — it was blocked. Sirius had sealed it, but that didn't matter. I wasn't planning on leaving through the Floo.

I had to endure many insults to now smile, looking at the corpse of my enemy, but it was worth it.

I surveyed the room. The blood-soaked table, the scattered chairs. The walls covered with traces of spells, and the body of Sirius Black sprawled on the floor… a cheerful picture…

I need to clean everything up.

But just in case… I bent down to the corpse, pulled the knife out of the back of his head. Blood splashed anew, but I paid no attention. Instead, with a wave of my hand, I struck his neck with a weak analogue of a cutting curse.

Now he's definitely dead. Hah. Well, he was already dead, I just decided to indulge myself by making sure I had indeed won.

You were strong, uncle, but unfortunately, due to your stupidity, you never understood who your enemy was. And I even gave you a chance to win me over with words. It was naive… but what if it had worked?

I spent a long time washing the blood off myself in one of the bathrooms. Blood was everywhere. My battle robes and attire were a little tattered, well, a little… they were quite ruined. But if not for the gear, I would be in a much worse state.

Mordred's Sirius… I should have been more careful.

I stood before the mirror in one of Grimmauld Place's bathrooms and looked at my right arm. The skin on my shoulder had been eaten away by the spell — not deeply, but enough that every movement caused pain. The robe in that place had been reduced to tatters; even reinforced with dragon hide and charms, the fabric hadn't held up.

I need to wash it.

The pain flared anew when the remnants of the dark spell — clearly some kind of magical acid — reacted with the water. The hissing was barely audible, but I felt my flesh continue to corrode.

"Damn…" I hissed through my teeth, clutching the edge of the sink with my good hand.

I held my shoulder under the stream for several minutes until the burning began to subside. The water turned pink, then became clear. I turned off the tap and carefully patted the wound dry with a clean towel.

It's good that I always carry a belt with mini-flasks.

I opened a compartment on my belt and pulled out the first flask. A gulp of strengthening potion, to give me strength and energy.

The second flask — rowan extract. The small flasks only held half a gulp, but it was better than nothing. The third flask was filled with a pain-relieving balm. I removed the remnants of my robe and began treating my wounds.

The scratches on my chest, the bruises on my back — and my torso in general was beginning to turn blue in many places. Every touch sent a new wave of dull pain, but my pain threshold was now high.

The main problem was my rib. It was definitely broken — I could feel it with every breath. An involuntary cough made me double over and groan.

"S-s-s-s…" I hissed quietly as I inhaled, leaning my good hand against the wall.

The Episkey spell helped me greatly here. Generally, it's a basic spell. However, healing spells require extreme precision and an understanding of what you're doing. Even the simplest spells take a long time to learn. This was the only more or less practical and effective healing spell I had. And I had studied it for a long time.

I raised my wand and concentrated. A light flick, and with a slight pop, I felt the broken rib click into place. The crunch was clearly audible.

"Ow!" I groaned, falling to my knees.

But at least the rib was no longer displaced, and I could stop worrying about damaging my internal organs. The main thing was to move carefully.

Episkey also helped with my shoulder — the bleeding stopped. A handy thing for setting a fracture or stopping bleeding, but not for closing wounds. Every Auror knows Episkey, as do those who value their lives and are willing to dedicate some time to studying it. Alas, the dark network spreading under my skin did not react to any of my spells. Ointments were unlikely to help either.

"Damn…" I whispered, looking at the black vessels, which were still pulsating. How disgusting it looks.

I took out some star-anise extract. A tiny flask, unlikely to be enough for everything, but better than nothing. I moistened my fingers and began rubbing the extract into the wounds.

The pain was unbearable. Star-anise extract heals even deep lacerations without leaving scars, but the healing process is torture. I gritted my teeth and continued rubbing, rubbing, rubbing until the flask was empty.

I'll have to ask Kreacher to procure a full-sized flask.

I drank a calming potion — the last one I had — and felt the pain begin to subside, becoming more tolerable, and my mind clearing.

I had brought a spare robe with me, so I had something to change into.

I went down to the small dining room. Sirius's corpse still lay on the floor, the blood congealed in a dark stain.

Burning it purely with magic, using some variation of Incendio without proper spells, would be long, tedious, and complicated. Especially indoors. And Dumbledore might have his blood, and if he decided to perform a ritual while Sirius's body was outside Grimmauld Place… well, I had another idea.

But before that, I picked up Sirius's wand and twirled it in my hand. A good wand, might come in handy. I might think of something. And while I was at it, a lock of hair wouldn't hurt either. Alas, within a few days, they would be unsuitable for potions, even with proper storage, because it came from a corpse, but I took some blood too. Blood and the remains of his hand. Fortunately, the flasks were empty.

I thought it might come in handy.

I decided to dispose of the body in the basement of Grimmauld Place, where prisoners had once been kept. A small prison of about ten rooms with sturdy doors that only locked from the outside. All the walls, doors, and ceilings were protected by such strong charms that even an enhanced Bombarda would probably not break through immediately.

I cast a Levitation Charm on the body and dragged it downstairs. It was difficult — given that any movement of my arms sent dull pain through my broken rib, my burned shoulder, and muscles that were screaming for mercy.

Fortunately, the painkiller had dulled it considerably, but the problem was that I needed it specifically for the star-anise extract, which heals oh so painfully. And slowly, the pain from my wounds was being replaced by the pain from the healing of those very wounds.

I carried the body into one of the cells and threw it on the floor. I closed the door — and now I could call Kreacher.

He was practically in the next cell, as I had ordered before talking to Sirius.

"Young Master!" he rasped. "Does Kreacher's help be needed?"

"I need you to bring bandages, star-anise extract, strengthening potions, and Skele-Gro. If not in the mansion, go to Diagon Alley. Are there Galleons for such expenses?"

"Yes, Master. The Mistress left gold for household needs before departing from life. But everything be in the mansion. Kreacher will bring the potions now!"

"After that, clean up the small dining room. There's destruction and a lot of blood."

"As the Young Master commands," the elf bowed. "And… and what is to be done with the unworthy master?"

I looked at him for a long moment.

"The unworthy master will no longer trouble the House of Black. He will no longer think of distributing the ancestors' inheritance to all sorts of rabble."

Kreacher froze. His large eyes seemed to see more than he let on.

"Kreacher understands," he said finally. "Kreacher is glad to serve… the Young Master."

He disappeared with a soft pop, leaving me alone.

Young Master. Not "the young master" anymore. Understandably, the old, thus wise, house-elf was smarter than his younger kin. If Dobby had a fraction of such intelligence, it would be wonderful.

Kreacher appeared a few minutes later with a tray containing flasks. I took them, nodded, and sent the elf to clean the hall. But not before giving him a directive.

"Kreacher," I said, as he picked up a rag. "You will not tell anyone what happened here. No one, ever, unless I give the opposite order. And hide the Horcrux again."

"Kreacher will keep this secret," the elf replied, strange pride in his voice. "Kreacher has served the House of Black for many years. And will be glad to serve further."

Before drinking the Skele-Gro, which can not only regrow missing bone but also, obviously, knit bone, I applied the spell again. Now the rib was definitely in place, and I drank the unpleasant potion. I also wrapped the open wounds with bandage; they had long since stopped bleeding thanks to Episkey, the rowan extract, and the star-anise extract.

And now — the letter.

I sat down at the desk in the study that apparently once belonged to Walburga. A Quick-Quotes Quill was already waiting.

"I've decided not to get treatment at St. Mungo's. Instead, I'm going to Sancto Mente. I'll be in touch when I'm ready. Thank you for everything, but right now I need to be alone. As for the inheritance — I will take the gold without accepting the inheritance. The rest can wait. I hope Remus is well. I want to meet James's son when I've sorted everything out."

I reread the letter. Short enough, without unnecessary details. I think it was realistic.

I sealed the letter and was about to send it via Kreacher and the Owl Post, but a fit of paranoia forced me to burn it and avoid the stupid ideas that could expose me.

It seemed like I had thought everything through, but what if they had some secret sign they used in letters since the civil war? Or what if Sirius's sentence structure was peculiar and Dumbledore could tell? Or who knows, maybe Sirius hated using a Quick-Quotes Quill, preferring handwritten letters. Then questions would arise…

Too many factors to account for… I can't take such a risk, even if it would solve many problems, including the uncertainty that, who knows, might lead Dumbledore somewhere. But with a letter, I could provoke an unexpected reaction faster. So, I think I'll pass on the chance to make a mistake.

After that, all I had to do was lie down and endure the dull ache. Oh no, I had completely forgotten about the corpse. But after that, I definitely needed to sleep for at least a couple of hours, to return home more alert and not as pale as a corpse.

What truly bothered me was this thought: could I have achieved my goal differently? Was subjecting myself to such risk the only and best way? But no matter how much I reasoned, I seemed to have done everything right. Even though I could have, by slightly reducing my paranoia, taken precautions. But I didn't think the first two options would fail, and I didn't expect the third to go so badly.

I couldn't even imagine that Sirius Black would be such a strong and cold-blooded fighter, capable of fighting, literally having just lost his hand. And still effortlessly defeat me, and if he wanted, just as easily kill me. He defeated me by casting with his non-dominant hand immediately after cauterizing the stump of his right arm.

I was confident in my own abilities, remembering that I had once fought three adult wizards above average strength while I was weaker and in a much worse state.

I probably simply became arrogant, thinking that some Sirius Black, even having lost his hand from shock, would hardly be able to resist for long. But he taught me one thing. From this day on, I will not underestimate adult wizards, no matter how skilled I consider myself.

In any case, no matter how I thought about it, backup would hardly have worked out. Help from my father — and I automatically lose the inheritance. Help from friends — would they have survived at all, or would they have had the courage to kill? Pettigrew wasn't even an option; he's loyal only as long as he lacks the strength to kill you.

Could I have attacked unexpectedly with something more lethal? In the end, since even tearing off his arm didn't save me from near death, a weak cutting analogue from my hands, which might not have hit, given Sirius's inhuman agility and reaction… no, I couldn't. I used the element of surprise to the maximum.

But I still nearly died. If Sirius hadn't been emotional and hadn't tried to cut off my hand, I wouldn't have killed him. But he would have first extracted all the information from me and then killed me.

So I didn't feel sorry for that ram at all as I drew the alchemical circle for transformation. Since fire was tedious and slow, I had to work. I even considered leaving the body to create an Inferius from it — good practice. But no. Better to find a Muggle later. An Inferius from a Muggle is weaker, but easier to make. Or I could get someone from Knockturn Alley.

Soon, the alchemical circle was ready, the ritual circuit for powering it too — fortunately, I was already good at such light practices. However, for a whole body, one that had recently been a living wizard, a tremendous amount of power was required. And my strength was only leaving me, like air from a pierced balloon. I hoped I could still transform the dead flesh into a piece of equally dead wood.

But there was a catch.

My brain, tired after the total suppression of emotions, not only ached — it was also sluggish. I only realized this when I finished everything and tried to activate it. Nothing happened. The magic level in the prison cell was too low — here, where prisoners were once held, magic didn't accumulate. It went into the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, feeding the protective charms.

"Damn," I whispered, erasing everything. "Damn, damn, damn."

I had to move the whole thing to the ritual room. Accompanied merrily by the pain from my aching rib, due to the Skele-Gro, and the pain from my whole body due to the star-anise extract.

I laid the body in the center of the room and started drawing the alchemical circle again. When I learn to apply alchemical schematics as freely, I won't need to power them myself. Firstly, alchemical schematics already have a circuit that automatically draws magic from the environment. Secondly, alchemical schematics are optimized and consume much less power.

As it was, I had to draw a ritual circuit for additional power — because I couldn't manage it myself. Not after such a battle.

Three times! I redrew everything three times! Changing circuits, adding runes, and correcting those damn lines. Three times, until it finally activated.

When the circle glowed with a dim golden light, I straightened up and raised my wand.

The alchemical process required constant control. With my wand, I poured my energy into the circuit, and it, swirling through the ritual circle, gathered magical energy from the air, providing enough power.

The process began immediately.

First, the skin turned grey, then brown. Muscles contracted, turning into wood fibers. Where bones had stuck out due to thinness, everything hardened, becoming knobby branches. The process was slow and gruesome — the body twitched, froze in strange poses, as if Sirius were still alive and trying to break free from this captivity.

I watched it, gritting my teeth, and continued to pour in magic.

Finally, everything stopped. Now it wasn't a corpse — but a piece of wood weighing about eighty kilograms. Partially resembling a shriveled body.

"Incendio Faera!" I said loudly, and flames erupted from my wand.

The dry, dead wood burned eagerly. I watched as black smoke rose to the ceiling and disappeared into the ventilation. How the body, which only an hour ago had been a living person, turned to ash.

Fortunately, the ventilation here is good. And there are charms in place — otherwise, it would be impossible to breathe.

I stood and watched until nothing remained of Sirius Black but ashes. Then, with dozens of wand movements, using household cleaning spells, the ashes also disappeared.

That's it… nothing left.

My paranoia only subsided when I checked the floor, walls, ceiling, making sure that no traces remained of there having been a corpse.

I sank to my knees, feeling my strength leave me. I was pale, exhausted, and every movement was difficult.

Gathering myself, I got to my feet and staggered off. Going up to the second floor, I entered a random bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

My body hummed from dozens of bruises and wounds. My rib ached, my shoulder burned. The dark network under my skin seemed to be draining the last of my strength.

But I didn't even have time to think about what to do about it all. I simply fell into a dreamless sleep. I love darkness and silence, but somewhere far, far away, while I slept, it seemed like something was happening.

I woke up clearly not in Grimmauld Place and with a strong desire to drink water. My mouth was a desert tasting of troll sweat — the association came precisely from the smell of that substance, familiar from Potions lessons.

I tried to get up, not understanding what was happening. My body ached, but there was no sharp pain. I looked around.

The room was unfamiliar. A beautiful interior in dark brown tones — wooden panels on the walls and heavy drapes on the windows, harmoniously combined with solid wood furniture, without the excessive pomp and luxury of Malfoy Manor, but expensive. The owner of this place was clearly not poor, but didn't seek to flaunt his wealth.

Where am I? And where is my wand?

I didn't have to wonder long; the door to the room opened.